


Déjà Vu

by VivacissimoVoce



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Curses, Drama, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Insanity, M/M, Mirror Universe, Mystery, Obsession, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivacissimoVoce/pseuds/VivacissimoVoce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot. Draco is experiencing something strange.  Everything is weird and repeating.  Everything is repeating and weird.  Draco is experiencing something strange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Déjà Vu

**Author's Note:**

> All rights belong to J.K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or settings contained within. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.
> 
> This is a departure from my usual multi-chapter fics. it moves fast and it sort of tumbled out of my brain in a long stream of consciousness, so I decided to preserve it stylistically as a one-shot rather than splitting it up. It's another curse story, but what can I say? I like curses.

Light and sound returned slowly, filtering through the haze of sleep and gently returning Draco Malfoy to the waking world. He yawned and blinked, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. This wasn't his room. It wasn't even Slytherin house. By the look of it he had fallen asleep in a Gryffindor bed.

The pillow beneath his head shifted, revealing itself as a lap in which he had laid his head for a bit of shut-eye. He tipped back and met the emerald green gaze of Harry Potter. The dark haired boy smiled and closed his book, then drew a finger down Draco's cheek.

"There you are," he murmured. "I thought you were going to sleep your way through supper."

"Is it over?" Draco swiveled around to lay alongside Harry and propped himself up on his elbow. His stomach growled urgently.

"It's half past," Harry threaded his fingers through Draco's blond hair. "There's plenty of time."

He leaned in and kissed Draco, his lips soft and warm and comfortingly familiar. Draco kissed him back, the amorphous memory of dreams tickling the edge of his mind and telling him to be grateful for this.

Harry slid his hand down and curled around Draco's waist as his lips parted and invited him in. Draco squirmed closer until their bodies lay pressed together from head to toe. He could feel Harry's afternoon stubble rasping against his own barely visible growth. He always wondered if one of their frequent snogging sessions would leave them both with razor burn.

Harry groaned and slid his tongue across Draco's teeth, hand clutching the back of his school-issued sweater vest. Draco responded by sliding his hand up between them and tugging at Harry's red and gold striped tie.

"They're at it again," a voice called from the doorway.

Harry and Draco reluctantly parted but didn't entirely let go. They looked over at Ron, who was rolling his eyes and leaning against the doorjamb.

"Are you coming down for supper or not?" he sighed. "Or is this all you're planning on doing this evening?"

"I'm not terribly hungry," Harry grinned at Draco.

"I'm starving." Draco's stomach rumbled again.

"We're heading down. Come along if you're going to." Ron disappeared down the hall.

Harry and Draco straightened their clothing and clattered down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room, where Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Dean waited. Five students in red and gold, one student in green and silver. The others weren't quite comfortable with Draco's presence yet, but they were trying, and that counted for something.

They exited through the painting and made their way down the moving staircases to the bottom floor, then strolled two by three to the Great Hall. Ron reached for Hermione's hand. Ginny reached for Dean's hand. Draco hesitated, still new enough to the relationship to suffer flashes of self-doubt, until Harry seized his hand and squeezed it firmly. Draco tried to act cool, like this was the most normal thing ever to happen at Hogwarts. But he knew the pink flush in his cheeks gave him away.

Outside of the Great hall they exchanged a quick peck and then split ways as they entered. Draco shoved in between Pansy and Theo and seized a mug of pumpkin juice right away.

"Why is your chin so red?" Pansy asked. "Your upper lip is a mess, too."

Draco ducked his face behind his palm, "stubble."

"For Merlin's sake," Theo muttered, shaking his head.

"He should use a depilatory spell," Pansy said. "You've got to demand it. It's disrespectful to leave you chapped like that."

"Can we talk about something else?" Draco dug into a bowl of stewed turnips and piled them onto his plate next to an oversized turkey leg.

"What, you're trying to keep the widely known fact of your dalliance with Harry Potter a secret?" Pansy sneered, her voice loud enough to carry down the table.

"You're a real friend, you know that, Pans?"

Pansy smirked and sipped her tea. To her point, her comment raised no eyebrows around the table. Sure, a fellow Slytherin here and there looked up with mixed emotions, some darker than others. But for the most part Harry and Draco's relationship had finally transitioned into the "old news" category of gossip.

"Have you tried the potatoes yet?" Theo asked. "They're good tonight."

"No," Draco checked around. A mounded bowl was sitting near a third-year girl whose eyes were fixed on her plate.

"Pardon me, would you pass the potatoes?" Draco raised his voice. She didn't look up. "Miss, uh, girl," he looked to Pansy for help.

"Marla Maplethorp," Pansy said with a bored drawl that Draco suspected was a mimicry of his own voice. The girl looked up at the sound of her name and stared at them with sullen eyes.

"Marla, would you please pass the potatoes?" Draco asked.

The girl said nothing, simply handed the potatoes over with a shove. Draco bobbled the bowl and steadied it before it could fall and make a mess.

"Thanks, love," he said sarcastically. "Next time try it without the attitude."

"Answer him." Pansy set her tea down sharply. "When an eighth-year addresses you, you say yes sir," she commanded. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," the girl mumbled and went back to staring at her plate. After a moment of awkward silence she grabbed her satchel and departed without another word.

"Pleasant sort," Draco said.

"You don't know who she is, do you?" Pansy asked.

"She's the president of the Harry Potter fan club," Theo said, his voice flat.

"Yeah right," Draco snorted.

"No, there's literally a fan club," Theo said. "They meet every other Thursday in the library"

"Oh," Draco wasn't sure what to say about that.

"Suffice to say the news of your involvement has not been taken well among club members," Theo added.

"Well I'll have a word with that little bitch," Pansy said. "I can't do anything about the others, but she's a Slytherin and she'll show some bloody respect."

"Don't make a fuss, Pans," Draco said. "Things are just starting to level out and I don't need it to get all dramatic again."

"Whatever you say, darling." Pansy dismissed his concerns with a sigh.

A hand slipped over Draco's shoulder and squeezed gently. He tipped his head back and gazed up into Harry's warm, friendly face. He couldn't hold back the smile that always rose to the surface whenever their eyes met.

"Ready to go?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, I'm done here," Draco bolted the last of his pumpkin juice and rose to follow Harry out of the Great Hall. Their movements did not go unnoticed, although the furious roil of gossiping whispers was more like a fluttering murmur these days. He hoped the day was coming soon when their passage raised not even a single eyebrow.

Outside of the Great Hall Harry snatched Draco's hand and tugged him in for a kiss. Draco felt the tension of supper melt away.

"What are your plans?" Harry asked when they parted.

"I need to study," Draco said. "And I might go to bed early. I'm exhausted, although Merlin only knows why."

"Maybe I've been keeping you up too late," Harry held Draco close around his waist.

"That's an exhaustion I'm willing to live with."

Harry checked around furtively and pushed Draco into a small alcove that offered a bit of concealment. He gently brushed Draco's lips with his own, savoring the softness of his mouth and kissing him gently like a whisper. Draco loved Harry's whisper kisses. They made him feel cherished, revered even, like there was something in him that Harry needed to caress with delicate sensitivity. It was as though he was filled with the wonder of their reconciliation every time they met, and he needed to touch it, feel its gentle warmth each and every time, in order to know for sure that it was real.

"Come find me after breakfast, okay?" Harry murmured when they parted.

"Okay," Draco dropped one more kiss onto his mouth and pulled him in for an embrace, then they parted and went their separate ways.

**oOoOo**

"No!" Draco shot straight up in bed, his heart pounding and his stomach in knots.

"Malfoy, are you okay?" Blaise Zabini muttered sleepily from his own bed.

Draco gasped for breath and looked around wildly. This was his room, this was Slytherin house. There were no Gryffindor colors anywhere.

"No," he gasped and threw his covers back, bolting for the boys' washroom. He staggered to the sinks and splashed cold water over his face in a futile effort to wash away the horror of the nightmare that had awoken him. He shuddered as he recalled the vivid detail of the colors and smells that had been so palpable and real.

He closed his eyes and the dream came tumbling back. Waking up in Harry Potter's lap, smiling together, touching, kissing--

Draco flew to a toilet stall and dry heaved at the thought. How had his brain come up with such a torturous notion? Kissing Harry Pot-- he retched again. It was horrible. It was the worst possible dream imaginable. He sat on the cool tile floor, thudded his head against the cubicle wall, and tried to put the dream out of his head.

Gradually his panic receded and he was able to rinse his mouth out and return to bed. He lectured his brain about appropriate dream material and told himself that it would not happen again. It had been a fluke of strange psychology, a symbolic representation of fictitious peacemaking, nothing more. He closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.

The next morning he arrived at breakfast late and shoved between Pansy and Theo, seizing a mug of pumpkin juice right away.

"Why are your eyes so red?" Pansy asked.

Draco covered his eyes with his palm. "Nightmares."

"For Merlin's sake," Theo muttered, shaking his head.

"You should take a calming potion before bed," Pansy said. "That's what I do every night."

"I'm fine," Draco said.

"What did you dream about?"

"I don't want to talk about it." At Pansy's demanding glare he lowered his voice and spoke softly. "I dreamed about Potter."

"Why are you whispering?" Pansy's voice carried down the table. "Are you trying to keep your well-known hatred of Harry Potter a secret?"

"You're a real friend, you know that, Pans?"

"What did you dream exactly?" She smirked and sipped her tea.

"If you must know," Draco took a shuddery breath. "I dreamed I was in a relationship with him. Turns my stomach just thinking about it."

"Hm," Pansy cocked her head thoughtfully. "Maybe it was symbolic."

"That's what I think." Draco was grateful the explanation sounded plausible.

"Maybe it represents your desire to bury the hatchet and become Potter's friend," Pansy peeked at him from the corner of her eye.

"Not bloody likely." Draco's protest came out louder than he anticipated. A few Slytherins down the table looked up with mixed emotions. Ever since Voldemort's defeat it was harder and harder to find people with a common loathing for the boy savior. But Draco stood strong in his hatred.

"Have you tried the French toast yet?" Theo asked. "It's good today."

"No," Draco checked around. A stacked platter was sitting near a third-year girl whose eyes were fixed on her plate.

"Pardon me, would you pass the French toast?" Draco raised his voice. She didn't look up. "Miss, uh, girl," he looked to Pansy for help.

"Marla Maplethorp," Pansy said with a bored drawl that Draco suspected was a mimicry of his own voice. The girl looked up at the sound of her name and stared at them with sullen eyes.

"Marla, would you please pass the French toast?" Draco asked.

The girl said nothing, simply handed the toast over with a shove. Draco bobbled the platter and steadied it before it could fall and make a mess.

"Thanks, love," he said sarcastically. "Next time try it without the attitude."

"Answer him." Pansy set her tea down sharply. "When an eighth-year addresses you, you say yes sir," she commanded. "Do you understand?"

Draco paused. He was overcome with a sudden sense of déjà vu. Ever since he had come to the table everything seemed familiar, even his own words. He shook his head sharply and told himself that he was disoriented from fatigue.

"Yes, ma'am," the girl mumbled and went back to staring at her plate. After a moment of awkward silence she grabbed her satchel and departed without another word.

"Pleasant sort," Draco said.

"You don't know who she is, do you?" Pansy asked. Draco felt like he did, even though he couldn't quite supply the right information.

"She's the president of the Harry Potter fan club," Theo said. "They meet every other Thursday in the library"

"Oh," Draco felt like he knew that, too.

"Suffice to say your rivalry is not taken well among club members," Theo added.

"Well I'll have a word with that little bitch," Pansy said. "I can't do anything about the others, but she's a Slytherin and she'll show some bloody respect."

"Don't make, uh, don't start any drama," Draco said, trying to shake the strange sensation of repeating himself.

"Whatever you say, darling." Pansy dismissed his concerns with a sigh.

A hand clamped down on Draco's shoulder and dug into his flesh. He whirled around and met Harry Potter's cold, hostile stare. He couldn't hold back the sneer that always rose to the surface whenever their eyes met.

"I need to talk to you," Harry growled.

"Get off of me," Draco rose to follow Harry out of the Great Hall. Their movements did not go unnoticed, and the furious roil of gossiping whispers clamored in their wake as they strode through the doors.

Outside of the Great Hall Harry snatched Draco's collar and hauled him up short. Draco shoved Harry hard and staggered free of his grip.

"I heard about your plans," Harry spat. "I know you're planning on hexing my broom during the match tomorrow."

"Why would I do that?" Draco shot back. "You're perfectly capable of screwing up on your own."

Harry checked around furtively and drove Draco backwards into a small alcove that concealed them from view. He thrust his arm against Draco’s chest and pinned him to the wall, his other fist digging into Draco's solar plexus.

"I thought maybe you wanted to make amends when you came back to school," Harry's face was so close, his breath was like a whisper across Draco's skin. "But I guess I was too generous. You're the same bloody prat you've always been and you'll never change."

Draco's head swam with familiarity. Why did it feel like he'd been here before with Harry Potter? The lingering sense memory of his nightmare filled his mind with similarities but he couldn't put his finger on it. Harry's face was so close, he could catch just a glimpse of his dream at the fringes, Harry leaning in and brushing their lips together--

"Get off of me!" Draco squirmed out of Harry's grip and escaped from the alcove. "Are you mad?" he gasped as he backed away, his body flushed with anxiety. Of course Harry was attractive, anyone could see that. And maybe under different circumstances Draco could see how he would be interested in sharing close quarters with someone so handsome--

"Oh God." Draco clapped his hand over his mouth as his stomach heaved. There were plenty of eligible boys at Hogwarts. Harry was anything but eligible. He was horrible. And no matter how Draco's brain twisted it, he would never be someone who he would want to get closer to. The thought was absolutely nauseating.

Harry peered at him suspiciously. "Okay then," he said. "Just mind your business and stay out of my way. I've got to get to class."

They parted ways, Harry in the direction of the potions classroom, and Draco in the direction of the boys' lavatory, where he tried his best to vomit in spite of the fact that the urge had receded. After several tries he finally gave up and headed down to Advanced Potions, joining his fellow eighth-year classmates as Professor Slughorn was handing out parchments.

"Looking green, Malfoy," Blaise said as they assessed the ingredient list.

"Feeling a bit off today," Draco muttered.

"Pansy told me you dreamed of snogging the saint," Blaise cocked an eyebrow. "I can't say that I blame you. Just look at that arse."

"Piss off," Draco rubbed his eyes. "This school is lousy with great arses. I'd prefer one that isn't attatched to a dopey-eyed git."

"He has nice eyes," Blaise said as he decanted a measure of viper blood into their cauldron.

"He does not," Draco said. "I don't even know what color they are."

"Liar," Blaise shoved the mortar and pestle into his hands. "If you're going to play ignorant, try a detail that hasn’t been reported by the Daily Prophet a dozen times."

Draco ground his teeth and glared at Blaise, then Harry, then Slughorn for assigning such a boring potion that permitted casual chit-chat. Blaise took the hint, and they worked quietly until the last step, then took turns whisking the mixture.

"Look at him," Blaise leaned over and whispered in Draco's ear. "He knows he doesn't even have to try. He just has to show up and get a pass simply because he's the boy wonder."

"Sickening," Draco agreed.

"Is it?" Blaise smiled mockingly and let the question dangle. Draco's cheeks flushed.

"Yes it is," he snapped. "And I'll thank you to remember who has done more than anyone else to take Saint Potter down a peg."

"I haven't seen you take him down a peg all year." Blaise idly whisked with one hand.

Draco scowled and readied his wand. Harry was raising a bottle of Fire Nettle and sprinkling a bit across the surface of his mixture. Draco shot off a wordless attack, just a small one, small enough to avoid injury but big enough to bump his elbow.

Harry's arm jerked and the bottle of Fire Nettle tipped, dumping a pile into his carefully measured concoction. A burst of flame erupted from the cauldron and caught him across the side of his face. Harry leaped backwards and tripped over a stool, clattering noisily to the floor.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped. "Are you alright?"

Blaise stuffed his fist in his mouth to muffle a laugh. He nudged Draco hard in the ribs and turned away to conceal his delighted grin. Draco watched with practiced disinterest as Harry climbed to his feet and assured his partner that he was okay. Hermione fussed over his face and hair, and as Harry turned to allow Professor Slughorn to check him over it became apparent that his right eyebrow had been singed off.

Draco tried not to stare, but how could he not? So of course Harry caught him staring and correctly identified him as the cause of his accident.

"Is this your fault, Malfoy?" he demanded, looking cockeyed and silly with only one eyebrow. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?"

"What are you talking about, you nutter?" Draco's denial was reflexive. "I've been finishing my potion. Which, I might add, is ready for evaluation. Professor, if you would be so kind."

"I'll get you back for this, Malfoy," Harry snarled. He gingerly touched the bare skin where his eyebrow used to be and winced.

Professor Slughorn deemed Draco and Blaise's potion a success and dismissed them. Blaise raved about the hilarity of Draco's prank as they headed back down to the dungeons, declaring him the hero every Potter-hater needed. But Draco wasn't laughing. Inside, deep inside where he didn't want to think about why, he hoped Harry's eyebrow would grow back normally.

**oOoOo**

“No!” Draco shot straight up in bed, his heart pounding and his stomach in knots.  A warm body curled around his and drew him back down to the pillow.

“Shh,” Harry whispered.  “You had a bad dream.”

“Merlin,” Draco gasped, rubbing his eyes and squinting up at the dark ceiling.

“What was it about?”

“I think it was about us hating each other,” Draco rolled onto his side and tucked himself into Harry’s arms.  “It was like nothing had changed.”

“It was just a dream,” Harry dropped a kiss onto the top of Draco’s head.

“It was so real,” Draco murmured.

“Look, we all agreed that we don’t mind Malfoy sleeping here,” Ron grumbled from the next bed. “But if you don’t keep it down I’m turning you in to McGonagall tomorrow.”

“Shut up, Weasel,” Draco said without guile.  Harry folded his arms around Draco and held him close, their legs intertwined beneath the blanket.  He was right, of course, it was just a dream.  There was nothing to be upset about. If only it hadn’t felt so real.

In the morning they made it to breakfast just at the end of the meal service and grabbed a quick bite before hustling off to potions class.  Draco joined his fellow eighth-year classmates just as Professor Slughorn was passing out parchments. He glanced up at Blaise Zabini in the back corner and had a quick vision of joining him for the day.  But of course he wouldn’t do that, he and Harry were potions partners now.  He slipped onto the stool beside the other boy and squeezed his knee beneath the table.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked as he assessed the ingredients list.

“Feeling a bit off,” Draco muttered.

“Harry told me you dreamed that you guys were back to being enemies,” Ron cocked an eyebrow over at the next station. “Can’t say that I blame you, if I were in your position I’d think about it all of the time.”

“Mostly I just think about his arse,” Draco said.  “Just look at that arse.”

“No thanks,” Ron grimaced.

“I thought you liked my eyes,” Harry smiled winningly as he decanted a measure of viper blood into their cauldron.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Draco played aloof. "I don't even know what color they are."

"Liar," Harry shoved the mortar and pestle into his hands. "If you're going to play ignorant, try a detail that hasn’t been reported in the Daily Prophet a dozen times."

Draco smiled at him, then at his classmates, then at Slughorn for assigning an easy potion that permitted a bit of chit-chat. He and Harry worked quietly until the last step, then took turns whisking the mixture.

“Look at us,” Harry whispered in his ear.  “When we put our minds together it’s like we don’t even have to try.”

“Brilliant,” Draco agreed.

“Isn't it?” Harry bumped their shoulders together.

Draco frowned.  There was something familiar about this moment.  Actually, every moment since they entered.  It wasn’t quite déjà vu, but it was damn close.

“It is,” he said. “It’s a damn sight better than always trying to take you down a peg.”

“You haven’t tried to take me down a peg all year,” Harry idly whisked the mixture with one hand.

There it was again. It was like an echo of a memory that Draco couldn’t quite pin down.  He shook his head sharply to clear his mind and tried to dismiss the unnerving sensation.

Harry hefted a bottle of Fire Nettle and eyed it warily.  He set the whisk down and sprinkled it carefully over the top of the concoction they were brewing.  A flash of Draco’s dream returned.  Fire Nettle!

“Harry, be careful you don’t--” Draco reached out and misjudged the distance, knocking Harry’s elbow so that the bottle of Fire Nettle tipped, dumping a pile into his carefully measured concoction. A burst of flame erupted from the cauldron and caught him across the side of his face. Harry leaped backwards and tripped over a stool, clattering noisily to the floor.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped. "Are you alright?"

“I’m okay,” Harry grunted as he picked himself back up.  “A little singed, I think.”

“Let me see. Oh no, your eyebrow,” Hermione tutted and turned his face towards Professor Slughorn.  The Professor clucked his tongue and shook his head.

Draco stared, because how could he not?  This was all so familiar, like he could have predicted the loss of Harry’s eyebrow a moment before it happened.  Harry caught him staring.

“It’s not your fault, Draco,” he said, looking cockeyed and silly with only one eyebrow.  “You didn’t do it on purpose.”

Draco’s head swam.  It was familiar, but different.  Why did it feel so familiar?  He shook his head again and gingerly touched the bare skin above Harry’s right eye.  Harry winced but didn’t stop him.

“It was my fault,” he murmured.  “I thought I was going to stop you from having an accident, but instead I caused it.”

“It’s fine,” Harry squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to get you back or anything.”

Professor Slughorn inspected Blaise’s concoction and dismissed him.  The Slytherin boy stuffed his fist into his mouth to stifle a laugh.  Draco glared at the back of his head as he left.  The strange asynchronous echo in his head told him that somehow it was Zabini’s fault.

“I have a salve that should regrow that eyebrow in no time,” Professor Slughorn was saying.  “Apply it in a thin layer and by tomorrow it should be coming in nicely.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry plucked at Draco’s sleeve and exited. Draco followed closely behind.

“This is just great,” Harry peered at the little jar Slughorn had given him.  “It works overnight but it won't be fully grown in by the Quidditch match tomorrow.”

“No one will be able to tell with your goggles,” Draco pointed out. “Besides, you don’t need two eyebrows to keep your loyal followers fawning over you.  Did you know you have a fan club, by the way?”

“I’ve heard,” Harry walked with his right hand pressed against his brow to cover the blank spot. “Some days I’m afraid they’re going to chase me down the corridor for a lock of hair.”

“Don’t worry,” Draco linked his arm through Harry’s.  “They’ll have to get through me first.”

The déjà vu feeling stuck with Draco all afternoon, the lingering sensation that he knew what was going to be said, maybe not exactly, but the sentiment at least.  He dismissed it as a trick of an upset stomach or nerves about exams.  Perhaps even anxiety about the Slytherin versus Gryffindor match tomorrow.  He no longer played, but his loyalty would be divided for sure.

After classes broke for the day he waited at the bottom of the stairs that led down from Gryffindor Tower with his books under his arm. Harry appeared a moment later, hair as disheveled as always, and a bright, beaming grin on his face.  Not even a year ago that bright, beaming grin would have set Draco’s teeth on edge, he thought.  He would have noticed it and admired it, but he would have resented that smile for belonging to the most horrid boy in school.  Now as they walked towards the library and Harry slipped his hand through Draco’s, he had to wonder what all of the angsty fuss was about.

He checked behind them and then swept Harry up against the wall to smash their mouths together. Harry grunted with surprise but put up no resistance.  They kissed long and deeply, hands stroking arms and backs but carefully avoiding the most sensitive areas.  Some things weren’t meant for public.

“Maybe we don’t need to study,” Draco ventured.  “What if we found someplace private?”

“And do what, exactly?” Harry played innocent but Draco could feel the rise of his knob against his thigh.

“I was thinking,” Draco butted their foreheads together, “It’s been two months.  Maybe it’s time we went further.”

“Oh,” Harry half-moaned, half-sighed.  “Draco, I don’t know.  It seems fast.”

“I want you so badly,” Draco trailed his fingers lightly over the curved plane of Harry’s arse.

“I want you, too,” Harry whispered.  “I just don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“Why not?” Draco tried not to feel spurned but it was nearly impossible.  “You like me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Harry said.  “Maybe even more than like.”

“Really?”

“I just don’t want to rush into it,” Harry said.

“Okay,” Draco’s heart was aflutter.  Harry had said he more-than-liked Draco.  That was pretty great, even if it did mean there was still no shagging to be had.

They continued on their way to the library and found a table near a leaded glass window that looked out over the surrounding campus.  Without a care for who might see, Draco idly stroked the back of Harry’s hand as they each read quietly.  He was only half-concentrating on his work, but that was half better than he had expected to do.

A flurry of twitters and whispers at a nearby table drew his attention.  Seven underclassmen girls were huddled together, with Marla Maplethorp at the center, watching Harry and Draco study.

“It’s Thursday,” Draco said lightly.

“So?” Harry looked up and followed Draco’s gaze. “Oh Merlin.”

“That appears to be your fan club.”

The girls weren’t even pretending not to stare.  They mostly had eyes for Harry, but the occasional darting glance in Draco’s direction revealed an undercurrent of resentment and bitterness.  Marla, the Slytherin president of the club, locked eyes with him momentarily, and Draco was struck with an intense loathing that he did not expect.

“Maplethorp,” he barked.  “Over here now.”

The girl was obligated to obey her eighth-year housemate.  She slumped over to their table and tried not to stare at Harry, but her overwhelming admiration for the wizarding world's savior was palpable.

“What is your problem with me?” Draco snapped his fingers in front of her face to catch her attention.  She reeled back and glared at him for a fleeting moment before smoothing her expression over. She said nothing.  Draco waited, his eyebrow raised in a sneer.

“What’s your name?” Harry asked.

“Marla,” she said, her expression morphing as she turned to face him with aching need.

“You’re part of that group over there?” Harry asked.  “I appreciate the admiration, and you’re welcome to come talk to me if I’m not busy,” he hesitated and firmed his grip on Draco’s hand. “but Draco is my boyfriend and I’ll not have you girls sneering at him all over the school.”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” her voice was dark as she shot another glare in Draco’s direction. “You should be with someone who has always respected you.  Someone who is always nice to you.”

“Even if that were true,” Harry said. “I would still want that person to be a man.  Do you understand that?  That part isn’t negotiable.”

“But if you just--”

“That part isn’t negotiable,” Harry repeated. “Besides, you have no idea what he’s like now. The past is past, and dwelling on it makes no sense.”

“Harry,” her face was crestfallen. Draco could see that the homosexuality argument hadn’t penetrated her brain.

“Unless you have a penis, I think your argument is moot,” he said dryly. “Whatever your opinion is of me, everything else is null and void.”

Marla glowered at him and lifted her chin defiantly.  She whirled around and marched back to her table, where the other girls hurriedly gathered their belongings and followed her out.  Harry stared after them, chewing his lip with his brow furrowed.

“Forget them,” Draco waved his hand and went back to his book.

“That Slytherin one seemed pretty angry,” Harry said.  “She might be capable of doing something drastic to get her way.”

“I don’t think so,” Draco said.

“She’s a Slytherin,” Harry squeezed Draco’s fingers.  “I think I know a little bit about what Slytherins are like.”

Draco grinned devilishly.  “Too true.  I’ll keep an eye on her, then.  Wouldn’t want to get poisoned before we have a chance to, you know.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry ducked his head and blushed.  “No,” he said. “We wouldn’t want that.”

**oOoOo**

Draco needed to study, and Slytherin house was too noisy to concentrate.  While he would rather spend his afternoon contributing to that noise, he knew he would never pass his Herbology exam if he didn’t buckle down.  So he gathered his books and headed to the library for some quiet isolation.

Of course things never went quite as planned these days, so of course he ran into Harry Potter in the corridor on the way there.  Harry appeared from the stairwell, hair as disheveled as always and a bright, beaming grin on his face.  That beaming grin immediately set Draco’s teeth on edge.  It was quite an attractive smile, but he resented it for belonging to the most horrid boy in school.

Harry sobered the instant he laid eyes on Draco.  It was quite clear that they were both heading to the library, which meant they were walking the same direction.  That would not do at all.  Draco checked behind them and then shoved Harry up against the wall.  Harry grunted with surprise but put up no resistance.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Draco snarled.

“I’m going to study, where do you think I’m going?”

“Maybe you don’t need to study in the library,” Draco said.  “What if you found someplace private instead?”

That strange feeling of almost- déjà vu overwhelmed him again.  For a brief moment he saw everything in double vision.  Except the other vision was slightly different.  Less hostile.  More kissing.

“Fuck,” Draco let go of Harry’s collar and scrambled away.  He ducked his head and ran up the corridor, hands shaking, heart pounding.  What the hell was that?  Why was his brain inventing such ludicrous visions?  Maybe he was getting sick.  Maybe he was overtired.  Maybe he was losing his mind.  He hauled up short at the entrance to the library and forced himself to calm down.  A few deep breaths helped, as well as a reminder that it was all in his head.  He was just stressed because exams were coming, that was all.

He pushed through the doors and found the library was crowded already.  It was that time of year when finding solitude for studying was hard to come by.  He picked a table near a leaded glass window that looked out over the surrounding campus.  His book fell open exactly to the page he needed, so he steeled his focus and began to study.

A moment later the door swung open again and Harry entered.  He looked around for a seat but much to Draco’s chagrin the only remaining unoccupied table was in front of his.  No bother, he said to himself, he would keep his eyes on his own work and ignore the sodding prat.

A flurry of twitters and whispers at a nearby table drew his attention.  Seven underclassmen girls were huddled together, with Marla Maplethorp at the center, watching Harry and Draco study.  Harry looked up at the sound of the disturbance, saw the girls, and then eyed Draco.

“It’s Thursday,” Draco said.

“So?” Harry looked back at the girls. “Oh Merlin.”

“That appears to be your fan club, of all disgusting things.”

The girls weren’t even pretending not to stare.  They mostly had eyes for Harry, but the occasional darting glance in Draco’s direction revealed an undercurrent of resentment and bitterness.  Marla, the Slytherin president of the club, locked eyes with him momentarily, and Draco was struck with an intense loathing that he did not expect.

“Maplethorp,” he barked.  “Over here now.”

The girl was obligated to obey her eighth-year housemate.  She slumped over to their table and tried not to stare over her shoulder at Harry, but her overwhelming admiration for the wizarding world's savior was palpable.

“What is your problem with me?” Draco snapped his fingers in front of her face to catch her attention.  She reeled back and glared at him for a fleeting moment before smoothing her expression over. She said nothing.  Draco waited, his eyebrow raised in a sneer.

“What’s your name?” Harry called.

“Marla,” she said, her expression morphing as she turned to face him with aching need.

“You’re part of that group over there?” Harry asked.  “I appreciate the admiration, and you’re welcome to come talk to me if I’m not busy.” He hesitated and glanced sternly in Draco’s direction. “But you might want not to get on Draco Malfoy’s bad side.  He’s not known for his tolerance.”

“You don’t deserve to be treated the way he treats you.” Her voice was dark as she shot another glare in Draco’s direction. “You should be respected.  He should be nice to you.”

“That may be true,” Harry said. “But I don’t need you to defend me.  Do you understand that?  

“Harry,” she pleaded. “I just want to show you what kind of girl I am.  I’m brave and loyal and honest.  I know I was sorted into Slytherin but if you can see past that--”

“Marla,” Harry raised his hand to quiet her. “I know where you’re going with this.  But I’m not looking for a girlfriend.”  He took a deep breath and shot a warning look at Draco before continuing.  “I’m interested in boys.  Do you know what that means?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes wide with surprise.

“That part isn’t negotiable,” he added.

“But if you just--”

“That part isn’t negotiable,” Harry repeated.

“Harry,” her face was crestfallen. Draco could see that the homosexuality argument hadn’t penetrated her brain.

“Unless you have a penis, I think your argument is moot,” he interjected. “Whatever you think you can offer is null and void.”

As the words left his mouth he was overcome with intense déjà vu again.  His head swam and he had to grip the edge of the table to keep himself upright in his chair.  His vision doubled and he saw Harry sitting across from him, stroking his hand with his fingertips. He sucked in a sharp breath and tried to shove the vision aside.

Marla glowered at him and lifted her chin defiantly.  She whirled around and marched back to her table, where the other girls hurriedly gathered their belongings and followed her out.  Harry stared after them, chewing his lip with his brow furrowed.

“Forget them,” Draco waved his hand and went back to his book.

“That Slytherin one seemed pretty angry,” Harry said.  “She might be capable of doing something drastic if she really doesn’t like you.”

“I don’t think so,” Draco said.

“She’s a Slytherin,” Harry shot him a sidelong glance.  “I think I know a little bit about what Slytherins are like.”

Draco snorted.  “Too true.  I’ll keep an eye on her, then.”  He caught himself before the next words from his double vision escaped his lips.  Something about having a chance to-- Oh Merlin, no.  Why would he say that?  It was getting worse!

Draco scooped up his books and tried to project a false air of calmness as he escaped from the library.  What was happening to him?  Nothing seemed right.  He rushed back to Slytherin house and finished his studying in the common room, where to his relief the sense of double reality was at a minimum.

In fact, he found that hiding out in the dungeons was the best way to keep the strange déjà vu at bay.  So far it had happened mostly in Harry Potter’s presence, which meant staying in the one part of Hogwarts that was a Potter-free sanctuary might be a cure-all for the problem.  He stayed in all night and faked illness to get out of his Friday classes, just to ensure maximum distance from his foe.

It was a tidy little solution until he decided he could no longer live on the care packages of sweets his mother frequently sent by owl post and he was forced to venture out to the Great Hall for lunch on Friday.  And as was his luck these days, he entered just as Harry was exiting.  He ducked his head and tried to slip by but the nosy git noticed and yanked him to the side for a conversation Draco definitely did not want to have.

“What is going on with you, Malfoy?” Harry asked.  Behind him students filtered in and out of the hall, barely noticing their private conversation.

“Nothing,” Draco shrugged.  “Just sick of looking at your sorry face, I suppose.”

Harry sighed heavily through his nose and shook his head. “You’re lying,” he said.  “Something is bothering you.  Are you being coerced again?”

Draco didn’t want to talk about that either.  If he had any say in the matter, no one would ever talk about the Dark Lord days.  No one would ever remind him of the terrible things he’d been forced to do in order to save his father from Voldemort’s wrath.

“I’m not being coerced,” his voice trembled.  The déjà vu feeling was creeping up on him, faint and amorphous, but terrifying in its approach.

“Are you sick?” Harry asked.

“Why do you care?” Draco snapped, rubbing the back of his neck.  No, don’t do that, he told himself. To similar to the other vision.

“You may be an utter bastard but if something is happening to you,” Harry’s voice petered out.  “I don’t really care, you know. But if you need help you should talk to someone.”

“I can’t talk to you.” Panic fluttered in Draco’s belly.  He could see it in his mind’s eye, standing too close and touching affectionately.  Why was his mind doing this to him?   “I have to go.  I can’t talk to you.”

And with that, Draco ran as fast as he could back to the dungeon, confident he could survive for one more day on his mother’s sweets.  After that he would have to start forcing underclassmen to bring him food from the Great Hall.  It seemed like a splendid plan.  He could hide away and no one would ever have to know he was losing his mind.  And best of all, he would never have to see Harry Potter again.  As Draco threw himself through the common room he told himself it was a perfect plan.  And as he heaved and gagged into the toilet, he told himself that everything would be okay.

**oOoOo**

Draco was definitely not okay.  He sat on the edge of the sofa in the Slytherin common room and told himself that he was coming down with something.  A cold or the flu, maybe.  He decided to stay in and sent a note via owl to Harry to let him know that he needed some rest.  He didn’t mention that he was experiencing strange fractures in reality, that everything he did felt duplicated, that his dream from the night before had carried into the day.  He felt strange in a way he couldn’t explain.  But that wasn’t something one could simply jot down in a note and send off with an owl.  That was something to be shared later, and only if the feeling didn’t go away, and only if it got worse.

So he stayed in and studied, and he grappled with the anxiety of feeling like he had done this all before, not in the past, but just now.  He wondered if there was a phrase that was like déjà vu, but referred to experiencing the same thing simultaneously.  Minute by minute he felt like he had done it all before, but not before, just now.  He sent a note to his professors on Friday, telling them he was ill and couldn’t attend classes.  Just the idea of leaving the dungeon filled him with a distant dread, one he couldn’t quite understand but was palpable nonetheless.

He survived on sweets that his mother frequently sent by owl post, preferring to stay in his room where he felt safe from the disconcerting trick of the mind. But by lunch on Friday he was running out of supplies and was forced to venture out to the Great Hall.

Harry happened to be exiting just as he was entering. And although he was intensely relieved to see him, he was also overwhelmed by the déjà vu feeling again. He stammered a hello and stood rooted to the spot, unable to figure out what he should do next.

“What is going on with you, Draco?” Harry asked.  Behind him students filtered in and out of the hall, barely noticing their private conversation.

“Nothing,” Draco shrugged.  “Just missing your face, I suppose.”

A tremendous wave of double vision swept over him and he saw himself in parallel, spitting a much nastier retort at the other boy. He sucked a breath in through his teeth and fought down the rising panic.

Harry sighed heavily through his nose and shook his head. “You’re not telling me the truth,” he said.  “Something is bothering you.  Are you being coerced again?”

Draco didn’t want to talk about that either.  If he had any say in the matter, no one would ever talk about the Dark Lord days.  No one would ever remind him of the terrible things he’d been forced to do in order to save his father from Voldemort’s wrath. He and Harry hadn't talked about it yet, preferring to bury the hatchet and look forward rather than unpack the nastiness of their past. Someday they would have to talk about it. But not now. Not when he couldn't tell whether he was coming or going.

“I’m not being coerced,” his voice trembled.  The déjà vu feeling washed over him in waves.

“Are you still sick?” Harry curled his hand around Draco's neck and rubbed it sympathetically.

“I'll be okay, really. You don't have to worry about me.” Draco's simultaneous memory told him that in his parallel conversation he'd been less grateful.

“Of course I'm worried. If something is happening to you,” Harry’s voice petered out.  “I care about you, you know. If you need help you should talk to someone.”

"I can't talk to you," Draco blurted out, and for a moment his split vision merged into one. He had said exactly the same thing in the other vision, although his intention had been different.

"Oh," Harry was taken aback by his words. Draco pulled him into an embrace and knew his parallel vision had run from that impulse.

"It's not you," Draco said. "I can't talk to anyone. I don't know what's going on with me. But I'll be okay. I just need some rest."

"Okay," Harry's voice was muffled by his shoulder. "I have to go get ready for the match. We'll meet up afterward, okay?"

They parted ways and Draco considered hiding out in the dungeon instead of attending the match. The discomfort of the déjà vu was getting more intense and he wasn't sure he could handle it. He wanted to see Harry, to support him and cheer him on. But he was scared of what was happening to his mind.

**oOoOo**

Besides, that prat was just going to flit around like God's gift to Quidditch. And who wanted to watch that? Bloody Saint Potter.

**oOoOo**

Then again, Draco had never had a chance to watch Harry play as a supporter before. And there was a part of him that wanted to bask in the knowledge that the cheers were all for his boyfriend. Who belonged to only him. Who would kiss and hold only him.

**oOoOo**

But he wasn't sure he could stomach the cheers for that Gryffindor berk. He would have to sit in the stands, wallowing in the knowledge that the cheers were all for his enemy. An enemy he'd never once managed to defeat on the pitch. Who needed that? And stop thinking about kissing him!

**oOoOo**

Of course he wasn't Draco's enemy anymore, that was a silly thought. It would feel good to be on the same side as Harry for once. It wasn't a defeat, that was silly, too.

**oOoOo**

Of course they were enemies! When had they ever not been enemies? Sure, Harry had saved Draco from the Fiendfyre, and sure Draco had kept Harry from being identified by the rest of the Death Eaters. But that had been business. That didn't mean they liked each other.

**oOoOo**

However, those incidents had shown them that they didn't truly want each other harmed. That something in each of them needed the other. That maybe they needed each other in a way that too much pride had gotten in the way of before.

**oOoOo**

Rubbish! Absolute rubbish! That was an absolute impossibility, and just because he was having crazy visions of an alternate life where Harry Potter was his boyfriend, that didn't mean it was plausible. It was a trick of the mind, a mental illness, nothing more. Nothing more!

**oOoOo**

"Draco!"

"Shut up!" Draco shouted. "Everybody shut up!"

"Draco, get up!"

Pansy's voice snapped him out of it. He opened his eyes and realized he was crouched on the floor of the common room, his hands clapped over his ears and moaning. He snatched his hands away and jumped to his feet, trying to affect a casual pose. It was too late, a dozen of his housemates stood before him in stunned silence.

"What is wrong with you?" Pansy's voice was weak, shaken. Pansy never showed weakness. That alone told Draco how strangely he must be behaving.  He scanned the faces before him, seeing the same wary hesitance in all of them. Actually, all but one of them. Marla Maplethorp, the third-year president of his boyfriend's fan club, was watching him with shadowed eyes, a hint of a smile twisting her lips.

"I have a migraine," he blurted out. "I'm not feeling well."

"Well why didn't you say something, darling?" Pansy aimed her wand at Draco's head and fired off a palliative charm. "There, feeling better?"

"Brilliant." He faked a smile.

"Then let's get going." She hooked her arm through his. "The match is starting soon. We're all going down together."

Draco's protests were silenced. When Pansy made up her mind there was no arguing. The déjà vu was still present but not uncomfortable at the moment. He was aware that he was resisting in both of his realities. When both visions aligned the unnerving split wasn’t so bad.

They joined the throng of students that were flooding across the lawn to the stands.  They mingled with students from other houses and chose seats that would offer the best vantage point.  Draco worried about how he would feel once the match started and his other self rooted for Harry to lose.

“Is this seat taken?” Hermione and Ron sat on Draco’s other side.  He smiled weakly and shook his head.  They weren’t exactly friends yet, they were tolerant of each other for Harry’s sake.  But he didn’t want to appear compromised in front of them.  Still too much history and pride there.

“Harry asked us to sit with you,” Ron said.  “He said you’re not feeling well.”

“I’m fine,” Draco smiled with tight lips. “A bit off but fine.”

“Well you let us know if you need anything,” Hermione patted his knee awkwardly.

Draco tried not to blanch at the contact.  His strange déjà vu showed him exactly what his other vision would think of such a thing.  He struggled not to give in to it, not to give up and yield to the other reality’s old ways of regarding Harry and his friends as enemies.  Matching up with the other vision might ease the discomfort, but it was a losing prospect.

The match started and the action was high.  Draco kept his eyes locked on Harry’s broom and fought back the wooziness.  He cheered when Harry dove and sped past.  He rooted for both Slytherin and Gryffindor goals. Pansy rolled her eyes when he cheered for the red and gold players, but she understood that his loyalty was shared.

As the game wore on Draco’s vision doubled and he had to grip the edge of the bench to keep from toppling over.  Something was coming. A big split, he thought.  He was about to have very different reactions in each part of his bifurcated experience.  He took a sharp breath as his stomach soured and he swallowed an anxious moan.

“Are you okay, Malfoy?” Hermione asked, worry knitting her brow.

“No,” he whispered.

“Are you sick? Do you need help?” she snapped to attention.  “We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey.”

Draco could only shake his head, worried that opening his mouth would do nothing but permit his stomach to empty its contents all over the stands.  His vision swam with duplicates and overlaid realities.  His face felt hot, his hands trembled, and something big was coming.

“The Snitch,” he gasped.

“Where?” Ron squinted up at the two Seekers, who were still circling in the sky above.

“It’s coming,” Draco squeezed his eyes shut and shook violently.

“The Snitch is coming?” Hermione looked up, too.

“It’s coming.” Sweat rolled down Draco’s temple as tremors rattled his body.  “Now!”

Just then Harry and the Slytherin Seeker took off like a pair of streaks across the sky, and the announcer heralded the arrival of the end game.  The crowd went wild cheering for the high-speed chase that would end the match.  Hermione and Ron cheered, momentarily forgetting Draco’s illness, and Pansy leapt to her feet in support of the green and silver player.

Draco quaked and tried to steady his vision, seeing swimming twin images.  His heart soared as he watched his boyfriend fly like a god, confident and clever as he plotted the fastest trajectory of the flying golden ball.  In the hazy contrapuntal overlay he wished for Harry to crash.

“It looks like it’s going to be close,” the announcer called.  “Gryffindor is in the lead but Slytherin is closing fast!”

“Please, please,” Draco whispered, and for a split second his double vision collapsed into one as his doppelganger uttered the same prayer.

Then a red and gold detailed glove darted out and scooped up the Snitch.

Then Draco cheered with Ron and Hermione at the victory.

Then the other Draco cursed vehemently at the Slytherin loss.

Then both Dracos pitched forward out of their seats and hit the floor of the stands with a heavy thud.

**oOoOo**

“He’s coming round.”

Draco blinked once, twice, and then was awake.  He recognized the long row of beds that Madam Pomfrey patrolled like a general.  He was lying down with a sheet tucked up to his chin and a cool rag on his forehead.  And of all miserable things, Harry Potter was seated in a chair right bloody next to him.

“What’s he doing here?” he rasped, surprised by how dry his throat was.

“You’ve been calling his name for the last four hours,” Madam Pomfrey said in her clipped tone.  “Headmistress McGonagall is on her way down now. Just lie still and rest until she gets here.”

Draco groaned and closed his eyes again.  The déjà vu was as bad as ever.  He could barely make sense of the room around him.  He was in bed in both, and Harry was sitting near him in both, but in his other vision Harry was holding his hand and stroking his hair--

“No,” he struggled to sit up.

Harry jumped to his feet and pressed him back down by the shoulders. “What is going on with you?” he asked.  “And what has it got to do with me?”

“I don’t know,” Draco whispered. “I think I’ve been cursed.”

“You most certainly have,” Professor McGonagall appeared in the doorway with the Head Girl at her heels.  “A most insidious curse at that.”

“Can you lift it?” Harry asked.  “He’s not going to die, is he?”

“What do you care, Potter?” Draco could barely summon the energy to put the proper sneer behind his words.

“I care.” Harry was defensive.

“Why should you?”

“I don’t want you to die,” Harry’s defense slipped a bit.  “I’ve never wanted you dead.”

Draco pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.  The other Harry was saying something similar, but with so much love that Draco could hardly keep from crumbling beneath its weight.

“I love you,” his lips said, echoing the overlaid reality.

“What?” Harry sat up straight in his chair, his cheeks instantly flushed with blood.

“Fuck,” Draco sat up in bed again.  “I didn’t mean that.  The other me said that.  It’s getting harder to know the difference between what’s real and what’s not."

“The other you?” Harry’s brow furrowed and he looked to Professor McGonagall for an explanation.

“I love you, Harry,” Draco’s mouth moved of its own accord.  “No I don’t, I hate you.  I hate you, Potter.  I love you so much.  Professor, help me!”

“Why is he saying that?” Harry asked.

“My boy,” Professor McGonagall sat at the foot of the bed and patted Draco’s leg through the blanket.  “You do love him.  And you do hate him.”

“I’m going mad,” Draco shook his head and contemplated the horror of a life divided.

“Schismia Cognitus,” Professor McGonagall said.  “It’s a nasty one, a curse that splits the mind into two opposing realities, one real and one false. The longer it is in effect the worse the split becomes until the victim is driven mad by its effects.  Very dark magic.”

“Who would do that to him?” Harry asked.  He reached out and took Draco’s hand in his as though he wasn’t aware he was doing it.  Draco wanted to snatch his hand away.  But he also didn’t.  So he left it where it was and tried not to think about it.

“Schismia Cognitus focuses on a particular aspect of a person’s life,” Professor McGonagall said.  “In this case it appears to center around you, Harry.  Draco, is it worse when you’re around him?”

“Yes,” Draco closed his eyes and breathed slowly.  It was better for the moment.  Both realities were asking him the same question.  Harry was holding his hand in both realities.  He didn’t want to give in, to care for Harry just to get in sync with the other side, but it did make the discomfort lessen if he didn’t fight it.

“Who would want to strike at Draco over his association with you?” Professor McGonagall asked Harry.

“Marla Maplethorp,” Both Dracos and both Harrys answered as one.

“Why?”

“She’s in love with Harry,” Draco said slowly, conscious that he still hadn’t broken the other boy’s grip.  “She told him that he doesn’t deserve to be treated the way I treat him.”

“And in the other reality?”

“On the other side she told him that I don’t deserve to be his boyfriend.”  He stopped short as the intimate detail slipped from his lips.

“You’re my boyfriend?” Harry asked wonderingly.

“Of course not!” Draco finally yanked his hand away.  “Obviously this is the real world and the other one is false.”  His vision snapped into one for a split second. “Oh,” he breathed, “I just said the same thing on both sides.”

“On the other side you and Harry have a romantic relationship?” Professor McGonagall asked.  “Well I think that confirms that the curse is centered around Harry.  Genevieve, would you please fetch Ms. Maplethorp and bring her to my office?”  She rose to her feet and smoothed her robe.  “The trouble with this curse is that it’s often signatured so it can’t be lifted by anyone but the wizard who cast it.  I’ll need to convince her to tell me her signature before I can break it.”

“You can’t break it now?” Draco squeaked. “I can’t go on like this! It's getting worse!”

“With any luck you won’t have to suffer much longer,” she said.  “But I will have to convince Ms. Maplethorp to cooperate.”  She swept from the room without another word.

Harry stared at Draco.  Draco tried to hide his face.

“We’re really dating in your other vision?” he asked softly.

“Yes.  It’s enough to turn the stomach.”

“What if,” Harry hesitated.  “What if that reality is the real one and this is the false one?”

“How could this one be the false one?”  Draco’s vision slammed together into one again.  Both sides were having the same conversation again.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “Maybe I’m only saying that because the other one sounds better.”

“Don’t be daft, Potter.  How could it be better?”

“I don’t know.” Harry said again.  He gazed at Draco with his clear, green eyes, and shrugged. “Because I’d much rather love someone than hate them, if those are my two choice.”

“Yeah well,” Draco tore his eyes away from Harry’s and stared at his fidgety fingers. “I don’t think it’s a choice.  This one is obviously real.  Because the other one doesn’t make any sense.  You and I have always hated each other.  How could it be any other way?”

“I guess you’re right,” Harry murmured.  And if Draco didn’t know any better, he would have thought he sounded sad.  Which made his vision split worse than ever.  Because on the other side Harry was so happy that Draco’s heart could have overflowed.

**oOoOo**

"Careful, lean on my arm."

Draco clutched Harry's hand and wobbled down the steps towards Slytherin house. The worsening overlaid realities made navigating difficult, and at any given moment he couldn't be sure what was real and what was a trick of his cursed mind.

"Is the other Harry helping you?" Harry asked. "No, I don't suppose he would, would he?"

"You can tell he's not helping me because I'm so disoriented. It gets better when both sides do the same thing, worse when we do it differently."

"So if the other Harry helped the other you like I am, it would get better?"

"Right, or if you stopped helping me."

"I'm not going to stop helping you," Harry turned Draco to look him in the eye. In Draco's mind he saw two Harrys, equally plausible: one who was leaning in to kiss him, and one who stood awkwardly to the side and watched Draco struggle unassisted down the stairs.

"I wish I could tell the other me to help you," Harry murmured against Draco's lips. He feathered his fingers through his blond hair and held him close.

"I think he would," Draco said. "If the other me would let him."

"Really?"

Draco nodded, "I think he would."

**oOoOo**

Draco sighed. His other self was probably right. That sodding do-gooder would probably jump at the chance to help him. And while on the one hand he disliked the idea of giving Harry something to feel superior about, he really could use the help. And it was only for two more flights of stairs.

"Potter," he said awkwardly, "would you help me?"

"What?" Harry reeled back as though startled.

"The other Harry is helping the other me, and it gets better if all four of us do the same thing," Draco said in a rush. "And the other Harry won't stop helping the other me so I thought," he trailed off. He couldn't ask again. It was hard enough the first time.

"Sure," Harry looked genuinely pleased to lend his arm. Draco laid his hand on his shoulder and it helped a bit. He slid his fingers down to his bicep and it helped a bit more. As his hand moved downward his overlaid vision centered more and more until he grasped Harry's hand and everything clicked into place.

"Is that better?" Harry's voice was right in Draco's ear, raising goosebumps up and down his arm.

"Yes," Draco nodded, his vision clearer than it had been in hours.

**oOoOo**

"Is that better? Harry's voice was right in Draco's ear, raising goosebumps up and down his arm.

"Yes," Draco nodded, his vision clearer than it had been in hours.

**oOoOo**

"This isn't so bad, is it?" Harry asked.

"Speak for yourself," Draco said out of habit. But he was right, it wasn't so bad. And it was a relief to almost be in sync again.

"Getting along might be a nice change."

"The problem is, Potter," Draco wobbled as his vision split again. "When you talk like that, we're not the same as the other side and it gets worse again."

"Sorry," Harry ducked his head. "What's the other me saying?"

"You're saying," Draco paused. "The other you just asked the same thing and I'm trying to answer."

"Paradox," Harry said.

"What now?"

Harry’s grip on Draco's hand was gentle, almost annoyingly nice. "You can't tell me what the other one is saying because the other one is trying to describe what you're saying."

"It's rubbish," Draco sneered. "Why a figment of my imagination should ruin reality is beyond me."

"I'm still not convinced that they're the figments," Harry said, pausing on the landing. His eyes were clear and not at all hostile, Draco noted. They were still holding hands.

"We have to be reality," Draco insisted, knowing his other self was saying the same thing. "We've hated each other for too long for that other version to make sense." His vision split as his other self made the opposite argument.

"Are you okay?" Harry caught Draco's elbow in his other hand. "Are we out of sync again?"

"Yes," Draco's heart pounded. His other self was doing something that terrified him.

"What are we doing now?" Harry asked softly, his hands still bracing Draco, his eyes intense.

"We're," Draco swallowed hard as the split widened and confusion descended over him like a veil. "We started--"

Harry watched him for a minute, then nodded just barely. And then he leaned in and kissed Draco on the lips.

The two realities slammed together as both couples kissed on the landing. Draco followed his doppelganger's lead and slipped his arms around Harry's waist. Harry's lips parted and invited him in, and at the first glancing touch of their tongues Draco's mind cried out simultaneously for more and no more. But then their tongues slipped together again and the yearning for more won the argument.

They kissed long and deeply, both friends and enemies. kissing on either side of Draco's divided reality. The overlay was so perfect that for a moment Draco forgot the split and tumbled headlong into the delicious sensation of caressing Harry's lips with his own.

Eventually they parted, both Harrys and both Dracos panting for air. Risking a split, Draco stepped out of Harry's grasp and ducked his head.

"Don't do that again," he mumbled. "It's not right."

"Why not?" Harry asked. "It kind of felt right, don't you think?"

"We hate each other," Draco stumbled over each word as his split self said the opposite.

"I don't hate you," Harry said.

"I hate you," Draco whispered. He grasped the railing to steady himself as the other reality assaulted his senses.

"Yeah well," Harry jammed his hands into his pockets and turned away, "some things never change, I guess."

Draco staggered down the stairs without another word. He needed to get away, to get to his bed where maybe the silence of sleep would give him peace.

They were a trio now, Draco on his side of reality, and Draco and Harry on the other. His heart pounded and he gasped for breath as the fear of his divided mind wracked his body. On the other side of the split he stumbled and the other Harry caught his elbow. On his side no one was there to help, so he tumbled to the floor and lay trembling on the stone tiles.

"Wait," he gasped as his double continued on, creating a confusing mismatch between the overlaid corridors. His doppelgänger stopped and grasped his head, but tried to continue with the other Harry's assistance.

"Malfoy, let me help you," a voice from behind came to his rescue.

Draco felt himself lifted up and braced around the middle. He nodded as he was propelled forward, and slowly the duplicate realities lined up again. He didn't speak, he didn't do anything the Draco on the other side didn't do.

Harry bore him to the entrance of Slytherin House and reluctantly released his grip. Draco did exactly as the other Draco did and thanked him for his help. And when he realized what was coming next he was too exhausted to resist. A tear trickled down his face as he leaned forward and kissed Harry again, surprising him but not driving him away.

"I'm sorry," Draco croaked. It wasn't what his other self said. But it was as close as he could get and only trembled his vision slightly.

"Malfoy," the Harrys uttered both of his names simultaneously. "I can get permission to stay with you if it will help,"

"No," Draco gasped, relieved that his other self responded identically. "Thank you, but no."

"Call me if you need anything," Harry stepped back and shuffled his feet, his hands buried in his pockets again. His brow was furrowed and he looked up at Draco with something he couldn't read, partly because his other self was looking at the other Harry, too, and Draco could read his face. And what he saw made him want to run.

**oOoOo**

Draco ducked inside, leaving both Harrys out in the corridor. He stumbled through the common room, thankful that his other self seemed to want to go the same direction as him. His vision was momentarily clear and their intentions were shared. He snagged his robe from the hook near his bed and ran for the shower.

It was late. Madam Pomfrey had discharged him at his insistence when he'd announced that he would leave with or without her consent. His housemates were asleep in their beds, leaving him the entire washroom to himself. He stripped down and ducked into a shower stall, yanking the curtain closed and cranking the hot water tap.

The water was a godsend, soothing and distracting. He could almost forget the tickle of déjà vu at the edges of his consciousness as he stood beneath the spray.

But not for long. It was just too much.

He crumpled, a sob tearing from his throat as the agony of his situation sank in. He couldn't live like this. He couldn't be divided. He couldn't live two lives, one in love and one in hate. He buried his face in his hands to muffle the sound and wept openly for the confusion and fear of the last two days. How long would it take Professor McGonagall to come up with a counterspell? He feared for his sanity.

He crouched in the corner and let the water rush over him until he felt calm enough to stand, dry off, and exit the sanctuary of the private space. His vision was perfectly in sync now, with both realities overlaying exactly. But still, the strange sense of déjà vu persisted. He paused by the mirror and looked himself in the eye, and could almost imagine that his other life existed on the other side of the glass.

"Listen," he said to his reflection. "I know you know what I'm saying. I need you to stop fighting it."

"What do you mean exactly?" his reflection asked. "You want me to stop making my own choices and follow you?"

"My side is reality," Draco said. "I know you think yours is, too, but it's not. Besides," he held up his hand to stop his other self from interrupting. "Of the two of us, I'm the only one who has experienced both sides. I've both hated and loved Harry. It's better over here."

"It's impossible over there," his reflection said. "I don't understand how I'm supposed to just accept that Potter and I can bury our differences."

"We didn't bury our differences," Draco said. "We grew up and realized they were childish differences. It's time for you to grow up, too."

"Piss off, don't tell me to grow up," his reflection sneered. "You're the one living with the childish fantasy that you’re in love with Saint Potter."

"That's right," Draco nodded. "I am in love with him. And you are, too."

"I am not!" His reflection was outraged.

"You are. I know what you know. And I know you love him as much as I do."

"Bollocks," his reflection spat.

"And he loves you, too."

"Bollocks!" reflection-Draco spat again. "How can you say that? You're not on my side."

"I used to be," Draco said. "He responds the way he's treated, but he's ready to move on."

His reflection looked away. They stood silently across the glass from each other for several minutes before speaking again.

"Give him a chance," Draco said softly. "He might be the best thing that's ever happened to me. To us."

His reflection looked away again. "I don't think I can."

"He already loves you," Draco said. "You have to trust me."

"I don't think I can."

"Who are you talking to, Malfoy?" Blaise shuffled past him to the loo, his underpants sagging around his arse.

"Myself," Draco said. "Needed a pep talk."

"I hope you were telling yourself to stop acting like a nutter," Blaise said as he relieved himself with the door open. "Honestly, everyone is talking about how weird you've been lately."

"I've been cursed," Draco saw no point in hiding it. "We think it was Marla Maplethorp."

"Oh yeah, you didn't know about that?"

"You did?"

"She hasn't been hiding it," Blaise flushed and joined Draco at the sink. "She's been bragging that she cursed you and you'll be driven mad soon enough. No one thought she meant it for real, though."

"She meant it," Draco's other half spoke with the same chagrin, pulling their overlaid vision into sync.

"You should get some sleep," Blaise rubbed his eyes. "It's two in the morning."

"Right," Draco nodded and followed him to the eighth-years' room. As he slipped into bed he hoped the release of sleep would finally give him some relief.

**oOoOo**

"Malfoy, wake up."

Draco rolled over and squinted at Goyle in annoyance. "Go away," he grumbled.

"Potter is waiting for you outside," Greg's big dumb voice sounded confused.

Draco sat up and was immediately hit by a powerful wave of déjà vu. It was still intensifying, making the sensation of going mad nearly impossible to bear.

He had to think hard. Which Draco was he? Did he love or hate Harry Potter? The contamination between the two halves of his world made it difficult to know. But then, Goyle was confused by Harry's arrival. So he must be the one who hates him.

He gingerly rose from the bed and dressed in a lightweight pullover and muggle trousers. Nothing with difficult enclosures, not in his condition. He whipped his hair into shape, Scourgified his mouth, and wobbled to the door at the end of the common room.

"Do you need help?" Greg called as Draco supported himself on the wall. The vertigo of the overlaid double vision was overwhelming.

"Piss off, Goyle," Draco snapped. "I'm not an invalid."

He carefully exited Slytherin house, bracing himself on the door. Harry was sitting on the floor, but as soon as he saw Draco emerge he scrambled to his feet and hoisted his arm over his shoulder. Unlike Goyle's offer, Harry's assistance was quite welcome. Draco couldn't tell if it was his other self or the shared experience that made him prefer Harry's shoulder. He supposed it didn't matter.

"How are you doing?" Harry asked as he took the weight of Draco's body.

"I'm okay," Draco lied. Without thinking he leaned forward and kissed Harry on the mouth. Harry inhaled in surprise but didn't stop him. "Sorry," Draco said. "The two sides are getting mixed up."

"I don't mind," Harry said softly.

Draco wanted to say, "Well I do," but his heart wasn't in it.

"Breakfast?" Harry asked.

"Definitely," Draco nodded for Harry to lead the way, his arm nestled comfortably around his neck. "Then we can go see McGonagall about curing me. Apparently Ms. Maplethorp has been telling everyone that she cursed me. Proud of herself, it seems."

"If Professor McGonagall can get a confession out of her and learn the signature, I’m sure she’ll have the counter-curse ready in no time."

Harry walked slowly, his arm bracing Draco's waist. Draco didn't tell him that he wasn't dizzy at the moment, since they were exactly replicating his other vision. He glanced at the Gryffindor boy from the corner of his eye and wondered if he would keep his arm where it was if he knew Draco was momentarily fine.

"What?" Harry caught him staring.

"Nothing," Draco's eyes snapped forward.

"Malfoy," Harry stopped, dragging Draco to a stop, too.

"I know," Draco closed his eyes. "It's the other me. Us. I'm sorry, I know it's awkward."

"It's not awkward," Harry said. "It's kind of nice."  He turned to face Draco, close enough that their chests touched. "Do you think it's nice?"

"No," Draco lied. He could tell from the look in Harry's eyes that he wasn't fooled.

Harry slowly raised his hand, as though Draco were a small woodland creature who would be spooked by quick movements. He brushed Draco's hair back from his forehead and lightly caressed his ear. Draco couldn't help closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. It was Potter.  It shouldn't feel so nice. But the other Harry was touching the other Draco and the other Draco groaned, so he groaned, too.

Harry's hand drifted down to rest on Draco's collar. His other arm curled around Draco's waist and pulled him closer. Draco's hands froze on Harry's biceps. They locked gazes and Draco felt totally helpless. It was wrong. Terribly wrong. They were enemies, always had been. If they weren't enemies, what did that make them?

Draco trembled, clutching Harry's arms and waiting for him to do the terrifying thing. His vision split and vertigo spun his world around as the other Draco closed the distance and kissed the Gryffindor boy. But he couldn't. He willed his body to contain the rising urge to respond, fighting upstream against a deluge of desire that flooded from the other side of reality.

After a moment Harry withdrew and ducked his head. "Sorry," he said. "I thought maybe--"

"It's okay," Draco said. "I've been giving you mixed signals."

“No you haven't," Harry braced Draco's waist and helped him up the corridor. "You've already told me that it's the confusion from the split reality. It's my fault for mistaking that for something more."

"Potter," Draco's knees buckled. They were far out of sync with his other reality. His vision swam with the heady rush of kissing and pressing his body against the other boy. He knew his other self was as disoriented as he was, but it didn't deter him.

"Sit down for a minute," Harry helped Draco to the floor. "What are they doing now?"

Draco stared at him silently, hoping his eyes would say it all.

"Oh," Harry licked his lips and stepped away. "Tell me when they're done."

Draco closed his eyes and for a moment the other side dominated his senses. He felt what his other half felt, saw what he saw. It was incredible, and the sensation of being touched by Harry's hands was better than he could have imagined.

After a few minutes his other half withdrew and they continued up the hall. Draco opened his eyes and saw Harry crouched a short distance down the corridor, head bowed and hands clasped on top of his head. He huddled quietly, waiting for Draco to tell him it was safe to move on.

"It's okay now," Draco climbed to his feet and wobbled dizzily as the overlay of the corridor shifted.

They hobbled together up the stairs to the Great Hall. Harry deposited Draco on a bench near the door and promised to be back quickly. Too late, as Harry darted through the throng of students, Draco realized his other self had chosen enter the dining hall with his boyfriend.

His vision split dramatically, whirling in a confused duplicate reality that was as real and tangible as his own. No longer a shadow of a déjà vu, his entire existence was torn between two complete realities. He shrank back and cowered from the sight, terrified of his total inability to know what was true. He tried to call for Harry but didn't know which mouth was his own. In the end all that escaped was a strangled moan. He sat paralyzed on the bench, unable to move, unable to speak, trapped in a shifting kaleidoscopic whirl of walls and tables and chairs and faces.

"Malfoy!"

"Draco!"

He wasn't sure which Harry to answer. One was on his left, one was on his right, and he wasn't even sure which one to reach out to for support. Draco's mouth worked silently as he tried desperately to focus his mind and separate reality from curse, but it was no use. He was helpless until the two realities lined up again.

"Malfoy, I'm right here," the Harry on his left knelt before him and grasped his hands. "What do you need? Help me understand."

"P-p-p-pot-t-t-" Draco stuttered, his tongue thick with desperation. "H-h-help m-m-m-m."

"Yes, I'll help you," Harry squeezed his hands harder. "Where do we need to go? What do we need to do? Do I need to kiss you? I'll do whatever you need." He lunged at Draco and kissed him hard. "Shut up, Ron, I'll explain later!"

Draco could pick out Ron Weasley's face from the swirling mass of schoolmates. He didn't know whether to be mortified that he had seen Harry kissing him, or relieved that Harry was willing to try anything to help him.

"Th-th-they're c-coming b-b-back," he stammered as the split world Harry realized his own Draco's paralysis was due to their asynchronous paths. He was guiding the other Draco down the aisle between tables to the door.

"Come here, tell me where to go," Harry hoisted Draco on his shoulder and hauled him to the enormous doors. A moment later the split world duo shoved through and the two layers slipped over each other and fell into alignment.

"There," Draco gasped. "Can you move to my right side?"

Harry scrambled to Draco's other side, which meant he had both Harrys lined up now, too. Harry shoved a pastry into Draco's hand and then braced him up the first flight of stairs.

"We have to get you to the Headmistress' office," he said as they ascended.

Draco let himself be supported, and even when his vision lined up perfectly he kept his grip on Harry, terrified that it would slip unexpectedly and he would fall down the stairs.

On the third floor they stopped to catch their breath. Walking in sync was harder than it looked, and Harry was bearing the weight of another body. But when Draco asked if he needed a break, he shook his head with a smile, wrapped Draco's arm around his shoulders, and continued up.

They paused again on the fourth floor, and this time Draco asked to sit down. Harry led him a short way down a rarely used corridor and they sat with their backs against the wall. Unlike earlier, Harry sat directly next to Draco with their shoulders touching.

Draco was terribly confused. On the one hand his vision was nearly clear, since the split world pair had also paused for a rest. On the other hand he wasn't sure what to think of Harry. He was supposed to hate him, wasn't he? How did it make sense for the split worlds to exist if he didn't?

But he didn't hate him. He couldn't hate him. Not now, not when he was helping the way he was. And it seemed pretty clear that Harry didn’t hate Draco, and in fact might even care about him. Draco had no choice but to depend on Harry while the curse affected him. But Harry didn't have to help. He had chosen to help. He wanted to help.

Draco slid his hand across his knee and tentatively took Harry's in his. Harry looked up in surprise but returned the pressure.

It wasn't so bad. Maybe the mirror argument from last night had gotten into his head. Or maybe he had to admit to himself that the split world Draco was right. Maybe they really could be good for each other.

"What are they doing now?" Harry asked. His doppelgänger asked the same question.

"They're sitting like we are," Draco said, his stomach fluttering a bit at the word "we."

"Is that why you're holding my hand?"

"No," Draco said. "That's just me."

"Oh," Harry's cheeks flushed pink.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why are you helping me? And why do you want me to hold your hand?" Draco's question was out of sync and his vision swam.

"Because you need help," Harry said.

"That's only a partial answer."

"Because I want you to," Harry said.

"But you hate me."

"I haven't hated you in a long time," Harry looked up. Draco studied his face and decided he wasn't lying. "You're the one who held onto hate."

"I know," Draco said softly. Then, before he could say anything to ruin the moment, he leaned over and kissed him.

Harry stiffened at first, but then he melted against Draco and slid his arm around his waist and pulled him in close. Draco responded in kind, his head once again swimming with amazement over the sensation of kissing his rival. The two parts of his split realty merged as the other two kissed as well, but Draco didn't really care. He would have kissed Harry even if the other Draco had left the building.

Harry must have wondered about that, because he pulled away and eyed Draco reluctantly. "Are you only doing this because of the curse?"

"No," Draco breathed.

"So this is you?"

"Yes."

Harry dove in for another kiss, his mouth greedy and his hands urgent. Draco had never felt anything like it, and he pushed back with a need that he'd never really allowed himself to feel before. But that was exactly it, he needed Harry. Maybe he always had.

They kissed deeply, grasping at each other's hair and clothing with a desire that consumed both sides of the reality divide. Draco pushed Harry to the floor and climbed on top of him, pressing their hips together and reveling in the realization that Harry was as hard for him as he was for Harry.

"Not here," Harry gasped between kisses. "Come on."

He pulled Draco to his feet and led him down the corridor, checking each door they passed until they found one that was unlocked. They stumbled inside and barely acknowledged the abandoned storeroom. They found a candle and a pile of old blankets, and with an Incendio and a Scourgify they collapsed in a heap to pick up where they had left off.

Harry tilted Draco's head back and kissed down his neck, concentrating on the soft, yielding channel alongside his throat. Draco's skin crawled with shivers and thrills at his touch. He wove his fingers through Harry's messy black hair and moaned for the sheer pleasure of it.

"Are you okay?" Harry lifted his head. His glasses were askew but his focus was entirely on Draco.

"I'm fine," Draco nodded.

"What are they doing?"

"This."

"Good."

Harry went back to savoring Draco's skin, and after a momentary pause he seemed to make up his mind and pushed Draco's shirt up over his head, followed by his own. Draco drew him into his arms and reveled in the heat of his skin. But when Harry's hands descended to his trousers he had to stop him.

"Are you sure?" both Dracos asked.

"I'm sure," both Harrys answered.

"But," Draco on this side of the divide frowned. "The other, I mean, when we're, I don't know how to say it."

"The other me doesn't want to?" Harry looked surprised. "Then that side can't be reality."

"No," Draco struggled as the split conversations fell out of sync. "You wanted to wait. You didn't want to rush."

"Well," Harry flushed guiltily. "Ideally, yes."

"But?"

"I don't know what's going to happen to you," Harry said. "I don't want to miss my chance."

"So you want to rush it because I might go mad?"

"I guess so," Harry sat up and curled his arms around his knees. "I'm sorry."

"No," Draco seized his wrist and pulled him back down. "I don't care if that's your reason. I was just wondering." He buried Harry's mouth under his own and pushed his tongue past his lips. Harry's hands immediately went back to Draco's trousers and slipped the top button free.

The two realities were out of sync now. The other Draco was already nestled between the other Harry's knees and was stroking their cocks together in slow rhythm. Draco had difficulty with Harry's buttons because the other reality was so palpable that his own cock felt every stroke and every pulsation from the other couple's movements.

He rolled his head back and groaned deep in his throat as the other Harry reached down and squeezed the other Draco's shaft in his hand. His own Harry watched him thoughtfully and understood what was happening.

"What are they doing?" he whispered. "Tell me and I'll do it."

"They're," Draco's voice caught in his throat. He seized Harry's hand and guided it down until it, too, had a Slytherin cock in its grip. Harry slipped his hand up and down, watching Draco's face for direction.

"Like this?" he whispered.

"Yes," Draco gasped. "Oh Merlin, I can feel both." The déjà vu took on an erotic overtone as he experienced every touch from both sides of reality. There was no longer a fundamental difference between them, only variations in touch that made him feel like Harry had four hands.

"Top or bottom?" both Dracos asked.

"Um, bottom," both Harrys blushed.

"Good," They kissed, Draco's duplicate nervous system working overtime as the sensation of Harry's double tongue filled his mouth.

"What is it like?" Harry whispered as he allowed Draco to press his knees apart and caress his bollocks.

"Like there are two of you," Draco said honestly. "It's not like two people, it's you, and then it's you again."

"Should I be jealous of myself?" Harry attempted a weak joke as Draco stroked one finger across his entrance.

"It's you," Draco gently slipped one finger inside. "It's only you. It's always been you."

"Draco," Harry breathed, and for a moment Draco wondered which side of reality he was on. Was he on the side where they loved each other? Harry had used his first name just now, but he was certain he was still on the side that had hated Harry just two days ago.

Did it matter anymore?

"Harry," he whispered as he slipped another finger inside and curled and stroked. A small smile graced Harry’s lips and he tilted his hips to accept the intrusion. Draco worked with his fingers to relax and stretch the muscles until instinct and experience told him it was time.

Both Dracos repositioned themselves, leaned down to kiss Harry hard, then pressed forward and entered in one smooth movement. Both Harrys gasped and their hands clutched at Draco's back and for a moment Draco was concerned that he had moved too fast. But both Harrys finally exhaled and nodded for Draco to push again.

He deliberately paced himself in counter-rhythm to the parallel reality, creating an incredible Möbius strip of thrusts and releases that twisted around themselves as he fucked two Harrys at once. It took every ounce of concentration not to come right away. He wanted both Harrys to climax at the same time.

He pushed in and out, in and out, his vision swimming with the kaleidoscopic view of both Harrys writhing in counterpoint. For a moment he was grateful for the curse that had granted him such an unimaginable experience.

"I love you," he whispered. And this time he didn't bother asking himself which side of reality meant it. He meant it.

"I love you, too," both Harrys replied, although one sounded more surprised than the other.

Draco dipped his head down to capture Harry’s mouth in a kiss, and then increased his pace.  Faster now, perfectly counter-synced against the other pairing.  As one Draco pushed forward, the other drew back.  They wove back and forth like a double helix, awash in the cacophony of moaning coaxed from both Harrys’ throats.  When the other Harry rose up in climax Draco fought to hold back, but then his Harry rose up a second later and it was too tremendous to withstand.  Draco came in a stereophonic thunderclap, with a simultaneous peak that increased the crescendo beyond anything he had ever experienced before.  He cried out, nearly struck unconscious by the intensity of it.

“Merlin,” Harry gasped, a laugh bubbling up and spilling over as Draco collapsed on top of him, shivering and pulsating in the rapid descent from orgasm.

“Salazar H. Slytherin, Harry,” Draco buried his face in the crook of his neck and carefully withdrew.

“That sounded amazing,” Harry curled his arms around Draco and drew him into a cuddling embrace.

“It was,” Draco’s heart was still pounding from the effort.  Both sides were in sync and the curse was momentarily quiet.

“It’s kind of a shame,” Harry said.

“How so?”

“If the curse is broken you’ll never experience that again,” Harry said.

“That’s okay,” Draco wound his legs between Harry’s and snuggled in closer.  “Regular sex is pretty great, too.”

Harry chuckled. “So are you saying you want to have regular sex?”

“Regular in what sense?”

“You tell me.”

“Potter.”

“Regular like,” Harry paused.  “Like more than once.  Like frequent.”

“Are you asking if I want to be your boyfriend?”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said honestly.

Harry didn’t say anything.  And the fact that he didn’t say anything made Draco realize that he did know.  If Harry were a different type of bloke he might have pushed or prodded or pressured.  But he wasn’t that type of bloke, he was the type to accept the circumstances for what they were, to make his own choices and not regret them, and not make a noisy fuss if he didn’t get his way.  Draco, on the other hand, was the noisy fuss type.  He wouldn’t fit with someone who shared that quality.

“Maybe,” he said.

“Maybe?”

“Yes, maybe.”

“Yes or maybe?”

“Yes, okay? Now drop it,” Draco closed his eyes.  The overlay was silent, the other pair having already navigated this part of the relationship two months ago.

“Okay,” the smile was audible in Harry’s voice.

They each tightened their grip and nestled in close, and before he knew it, Draco was drifting off to sleep.

**oOoOo**

The brief dip into sleep didn’t last long.  Draco was awake soon enough, and he found himself in blissful peace as he laid ensconced in his boyfriend’s arms.  It was just two days ago that Harry had said he wanted to wait, that he didn’t want to rush into anything.  He hoped he wouldn’t have any regrets.

“Hi,” Harry smiled as Draco propped himself up on his elbow.  “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Draco frowned. “The curse feeling is gone.”

“Does that mean you’re cured?”

“Maybe,” Draco looked around the room, waiting to see if the confusing overlay of realities would set in again.  “Do you think sex cured it?”

“That doesn’t seem likely,” Harry said.  “Maybe Professor McGonagall broke the curse while we were laying here.”

“So this is reality after all,” Draco laced their fingers together.  “That’s a relief.  I couldn’t stand the idea of starting over again.”

“Me too.”

They dressed and cleaned up the blankets they’d scattered, snuffed the candle and exited the store room.  Since the curse had disappeared so suddenly, they thought it would be a good idea to continue on to the Headmistress’ office and find out what had happened.  They made their way back to the stairwell and ascended one more flight to the fifth floor.

“Come in,” Professor McGonagall’s voice called.  The Head Girl opened the door and peered at them with false authority.  Draco nudged her aside and entered with his head held high.  Just because he’d gone soft for Harry, that didn’t mean he had to treat everyone differently.

“You’re looking much better, Draco,” Professor McGonagall came out from behind her desk and grasped Draco’s head. She peered into his eyes and checked the palms of his hands.  “What happened?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Draco said.  “It suddenly went away.”

“Strange,” she frowned.  “It shouldn’t just stop, not without the curse being lifted.”

“Maybe Marla Maplethorp lifted it,” Harry suggested.

“Oh I doubt that,” Professor McGonagall shook her head.  “I questioned her for an hour and a half last night.  She refused to admit that she was behind the curse, much less how she signatured it.  I’ve been researching ways to break it without the signature but so far I’ve found nothing.”

“You don’t think she got scared that she was caught and lifted it to save herself?” Draco asked.

“On the contrary, she seemed quite prepared to wait out the curse’s final stages.”

"Final stages? What does that mean?"

"Ever increasing madness, my boy," their professor said soberly. "The split mind cannot withstand the weight of two realities for long. In the final stages the two become indistinguishable and the victim is paralyzed by his inability to function in both at once. The mind becomes broken, so much so that eventually no return to sanity is possible. And then, because the victim is unable to care for himself anymore, death follows, usually by starvation or dehydration."

"Fuck." Draco swore. He reached for Harry's hand and clutched it tightly.

"But his curse seems to be lifted," Harry said. "He couldn't function like this just an hour ago."

"What changed in that time?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Well," Harry rubbed his neck. Draco shuffled his feet.

"I see," she raised an eyebrow. "And the split reality, what were they doing?"

"The same," Draco blushed.

"I see," she said again. "But in your split reality you still hate Mister Potter."

"Not anymore," Draco said. He smiled shyly at Harry.

"I see," she said one more time.

"What do you think happened?" Harry asked.

"I'm not sure what to think," Professor McGonagall said. "The split was supposed to strike directly at Draco's heart, dividing his feelings towards you. By all reasoning he should be of opposing opinion until the curse is lifted, or it has its way with him. Living opposing lives should have rended his sanity in two."

"But we did our best to do the same things," Draco said. "We went the same places and tried to talk about the same things. I felt less divided when we were in sync."

"Maybe the curse cancelled itself when the other us fell in love, too," Harry said.

"Perhaps." Professor McGonagall looked dubious.

"It makes sense," Draco said. "If our minds--"

Just then the split world came crashing down on him. A dizzying overlay of the storage room, of naked limbs and piles of clothing collided with the Headmistress' office, so real and palpable that he could not understand what was real and what was not.

He tumbled to the floor, his hands thrown over his head, so far beyond disorientation that he could no longer speak or make intelligible sense of the sounds flooding his ears. He tried to shout, tried to reach for Harry, for anything that made sense, but his hands were no longer under his control. He wanted to scream. Perhaps he was screaming. There was no way to know for sure.

It went on and on in a timeless eternity, with no reference to tell him whether he had been struck down for minutes, hours, or days. A small pocket of his mind was aware of what was happening, terrifyingly lucid as the rest of his consciousness shredded along the rift between the two realities.

**oOoOo**

"--Please help him!"

A voice cut through the sea of confusion and Draco clung to it like a life raft.

"Over here to the fainting couch," a familiar brogue instructed.

Slowly the whirl of shapes and din of sound began to resolve. He was in Headmistress McGonagall's office, he knew that for certain. But still, nothing lined up quite right. Then the lines moved again and the room shifted, and then he was lying on a sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

Both Harrys were crouched next to him, eyes terrified and hands clutching his shoulders.

"Please be are you okay all right is this please don't leave better?" Both Harrys babbled over each other in desperation. Draco could hardly parse his words.

"Stop," he begged. "One at a time."

"What do you mean?" Both Harrys asked.

"That's better," Draco smiled weakly. "Don't move me again."

"What happened to you?" The agony in Harry's voice was palpable.

"One side must have slept longer," Draco said. "When he woke up everything went wrong."

"I'm so sorry," Harry kissed him hard, his tears leaving wet streaks on Draco's face.

"Why are you doing that again?" Ron Weasley's voice came from beyond the sofa. Harry sat up quickly and blushed.

Draco sat up as the other Draco sat up, too. They looked to the doorway at the five students who had just entered. Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, and Blaise Zabini all held their wands at the ready, aimed directly at the diminutive third-year girl between them.

"Marla Maplethorp," Draco spat. "You'll go to Azkaban for this."

"They would never send a child," she lifted her chin arrogantly.

"Oh I wouldn't be so sure," Professor McGonagall approached slowly. "Such dark magic at such a young age. They might see fit to hold you if only to prevent you from doing worse when you're grown up."

"They won't take a risk that you could be another you-know-who," Ron said.

"I'm not," she protested. "I just want what's best for Harry."

"What's best for Harry is not torturing Draco Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said.

"I'll tear you limb from limb, you little bitch," Pansy snarled.

"Which one am I?" Draco asked, hauling everyone else up short. Only Harry understood his question.

"You're the one who hates me, remember?" he squeezed Draco's hand.

Draco's perception was drifting in and out of alignment. Both sides were having similar conversations, but not identical. It made following the flow difficult.

"Harry doesn't deserve to be hated," Marla pointed accusingly. "Draco deserves what he got."

"You daft bint," Blaise shook his head. "Can’t you see what's going on? Look at their hands."

"Yes, why are you holding hands?" Hermione asked.

"Because," Harry ducked his head, "I guess I don't hate him after all."

"And I can't hate Harry, not after this," Draco's speech was halting and strained as he struggled to speak to only one side of his divided reality.

"So it was all for nothing," Professor McGonagall looked down her nose at the girl. "Your curse brought them together instead."

"But Harry--" Marla stopped herself, then rushed forward. "You were supposed to realize--"

"Why would I want someone who would do this to another person?" Harry asked, his voice more sorrowful than accusatory.

"How could you want him?" her voice broke. "He's always terrible to you. I would never hurt you. I only want you to be happy."

"You don't know me at all if you think this makes me happy," Harry said. Again, his voice was sad, not angry. Draco marveled at his self control. If he had been in Harry's shoes he would have hurled a Cruciatus curse at the first opportunity.

Marla's face crumpled. She tried to run from the room but Ron and Pansy seized her arms and held her fast.

"The curse is drawing them closer," Professor McGonagall said. "If you want to stop that from happening, show me the signature to break it."

Draco's mind whirled as the near-miss of double conversation jumbled around him. Marla on the other side was furious that they were still in love. She was no closer to revealing her signature than before.

"If I show you, you'll lift it and they'll stop?" The Marla on this side looked hopeful.

"Yes," Professor McGonagall lied, but it was the lie the girl wanted to hear.

She shook free from her captors and withdrew her wand. With a deep breath she raised her arm and swished elaborately through the air. Draco's vision and attention were too split to follow, but the Headmistress seemed to grasp it right away. She practiced once and at Marla's nod she turned to Draco on the fainting couch.

"Schismia Cognitus Redacto," she called, while swishing her wand artfully through the air.

Draco felt nothing. His vision swam and he could hear the walla of conversation on the other side of the divide.

"Are you cured?" Harry asked.

"No," Draco said. "Try again."

"Schismia Cognitus Redacto," Professor McGonagall flourished but once again nothing changed. Draco shook his head.

"Why isn't it canceling?" Hermione asked. "Did you lie about the signature, Marla?"

"No!" the girl exclaimed. "I swear, that's it. It's two M's, for my initials."

"Draco," Harry grasped his hands. "What is the other Marla doing?"

"She's refusing to talk," speaking took effort, particularly when he wasn't saying the same words as his doppelgänger. "She cursed me to break us up. She says its just a matter of time now."

"That's awful," Hermione cringed.

"She has no reason to give up the signature," Professor McGonagall said. "She'll have her way eventually." She sighed and sat gingerly next to Draco. "It may be that both sides of the split have to revoke the spell in order for it to work. But if Marla won't share the signature on the other side, I don't see how we can do it."

Draco's head whirled with the word salad of two Headmistresses speaking to him in different words. He reached out to touch her arm and missed, passing through the apparition of the split world. He tried again and this time made purchase.

"Teach me," he said.

"Can you still see me?" She sounded surprised.

"I can see well enough," he said. "And if that doesn't work you can show me by moving my hand."

"That's why you don't fuck with a Malfoy," Pansy shoved Marla hard in the shoulder. "They're stubborn as hell and too arrogant to admit defeat," her smug voice cut through the haze as both Slytherin girls uttered the same reproach.

"My father says they're cowards," Marla regained her balance and stepped away from Pansy.

"If you think he's so cowardly, perhaps you'd like to endure the same curse," Blaise cut in. "Let's see how brave you are."

"We don't have much time," Harry said. "Every time it hits him it gets worse."

"He’s right," Draco fought to keep the panic at bay. He gestured for Professor McGonagall to proceed.

She helped him withdraw his wand and lifted him to his feet. Standing behind him, she swished his arm in the elaborate, loopy pair of M's. It took only a few demonstrations before Draco felt he had the movement down. He nodded for Harry to brace his other arm.

"I n-need a m-m-mirror," he stammered as he stepped far out of sync. "M-mirror. M-mirr-mirror."

"I heard you, don't strain yourself," Harry gently walked him to the horizontal mirror above the fireplace.

"I'm t-trying to t-tell my oth-other self where I-I'm g-going," Draco stumbled but caught himself on the back of a chair. He repeated the word mirror as his vision spun out of control. His doppelgänger was still on the fainting couch.

"Is this okay?" Harry asked as he stopped before their reflection.

"D-d-d-d-don't--"

"I won't let you go," Harry said, his mouth close to Draco's ear to make sure he was heard.

Just then the jumbled confusion of vision swung about and aligned. His doppelgänger had figured it out and was now being maneuvered in front of the mirror above the fireplace.

"There you are," Draco said as everything fell into place.

"You could have been clearer," the other Draco said. "Or said what you were doing before you threw us out of sync."

"Shut up and listen," Draco rolled his eyes.

"Who is he talking to?" both Rons asked.

"Very clever," both Professor McGonagalls said. "He’s figured out how to communicate across the split."

"Marla hasn't given up her signature, has she?" Draco asked.

"No."

"Well she gave it to me."

"Why would she do that?"

"Because the curse brought Harry and me together."

"She gave it to you in the hopes of driving you apart again?"

"Seems like it."

"So what do we need to do?"

"I need to teach you the signature so you can teach it to McGonagall."

"Professor McGonagall, if you please," the Headmistress frowned.

"Then what?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Draco laughed bitterly. "Actually your guess is mine."

"They have to cast at the same time to cancel the spell?"

"That's what we're thinking."

"Show me."

Draco lifted his wand and swished it in the elaborate double M. The other Draco watched at first, then raised his hand and mimicked the motion.

"This is hard," the other Draco said. "You're opposite of me."

"Hang on, don't move. Let's see if this works," Draco turned around so his back was to the mirror and raised his arm but his vision swam and his body seized up in paralysis. "N-n-no, H-Harry h-help-p."

Harry grasped his shoulders and turned him back around.

"Don't do that again," the other Draco gasped.

"You're just going to have to learn reversed," Draco said. He swished again and again and the other Draco copied him until finally he felt he understood.

"Oh I see, two M's like Marla Maplethorp." The other Draco grinned, "That must be it because she's angry now."

"I know, I can hear her."

"This is utter madness," both Rons said. Both Hermiones shushed them.

"So what now, do I teach McGonagall?" The other Draco asked.

"Professor McGonagall, if you please," the other Headmistress frowned.

"Yes," Draco nodded. He turned and faced the room as his double taught the sweeping signature to the professor. When she had it, they turned to face each other again.

"Are we ready to try?" he asked.

"I think so," The other Draco seemed nervous.

"What's wrong?"

"There are two possibilities here," the other Draco said. "If my side is reality, what you just taught me won't work. Because it won't be from the real Marla."

"And if my side is reality, you will cease to exist," Draco finished.

"I don't want to disappear," the other Draco said. "I don't want us to disappear," he reached out and put his hand on Harry's reflection's shoulder.

Draco reached out and touched Harry's shoulder, too. "You won't disappear. We are you."

"You're sure?" the other Draco frowned. "What if you only forgave each other because of the curse? Once it's gone you might go back--"

"We're not going back."

"Tell him that I love you," Harry said softly.

"He heard you," Draco said. "Besides, maybe the other side is reality after all, and we're the ones who will cease to exist."

"This is too confusing," Ron said. He glared at Marla. "Look what you did, you crazy fangirl."

"We need to try it now," Draco said. "Staying in sync isn't fully stopping it now. Everything is getting m-mixed up again."

"Tell your double to count to three with you," Professor McGonagall readied her wand. "We will cast the counter-spell at the same time."

"We heard you," Draco struggled to keep his mind focused. "R-ready? One, t-two, th-three."

"Schismia Cognitus Redacto," Both Headmistresses called at once.

A searing pain split through Draco's head, tearing his vision in two and shattering the room around him. He plummeted into blackness, without sight or sound or touch to link him to the physical world. He tried to cry out but the silence was infinite, swallowing him up in nothingness. And then everything disappeared.

**oOoOo**

Light and sound returned slowly, filtering through the haze of sleep and gently returning Draco Malfoy to the waking world. He yawned and blinked, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. This wasn't his room. It wasn't even Slytherin house. By the look of it he had fallen asleep on the floor of the Headmistress' office.

The pillow beneath his head shifted, revealing itself as a lap in which he had laid his head when he fell unconscious. He tipped back and met the emerald green gaze of Harry Potter. The dark haired boy smiled and drew a finger down Draco's cheek.

"There you are," he murmured. "I thought you were going to sleep your way through supper."

The uncanny sense of déjà vu snapped Draco fully awake. "Is it over?" Draco swiveled around and sat up.

"It's half past," Harry threaded his fingers through Draco's blond hair. "There's plenty of time."

He leaned in and kissed Draco, his lips soft and warm and comfortingly familiar. Draco kissed him back, the amorphous memory of dreams tickling the edge of his mind and telling him to be grateful for this.

"I meant the curse," Draco Iooked up at the others who hovered at the edges of the room. "Is it lifted?"

"You tell us," Professor McGonagall said. "Do you sense a divided reality? Can you see or hear another you?"

"No," Draco said. "But what if the other me is just asleep again?"

"I don't think so," Marla Maplethorp spoke up near the doorway, where Ron and Pansy held her captive. "The curse was linked to me, and I felt it break."

"What are you going to do with her, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"I shall call her parents and then have her arrested," Professor McGonagall stared sternly at the girl, whose shoulders sagged in defeat. “After that it’s up to the Ministry.”

Harry stood and drew Draco up by his hand. Professor McGonagall moved the third-year girl to the fainting couch and dismissed Ron, Hermione, Pansy, and Blaise. Draco took a long look at Marla.

"Hey," he said softly. "I know you wanted Harry for yourself. But you’ll never have this," he pulled Harry into an embrace and kissed him deeply, passionately, with every ounce of desire in his body.

"That's quite enough," Professor McGonagall sounded exhausted. "Go on, then. Supper is almost over."

"Sorry, Professor." Draco wasn't sorry at all. "And thank you."

"Go on," she waved them away.

He and Harry escaped into the dim corridor and linked hands as they walked towards the stairs. Draco hauled up short.

"Wait a minute," he said. "Which side are we?"

"Does it matter?" Harry asked. "Both sides ended up in the same place."

"Well," Draco thought carefully. "It would be nice to know, for anniversary purposes."

"You're planning on celebrating anniversaries with me?"

"You're not?"

"Of course I am."

"So when is it?"

Harry tweaked his earlobe. "Let's just say it's today."

"Okay," Draco smiled. "Happy curse day, Harry."

"Happy curse day, Draco."

 

THE END


End file.
